


Revelation Boulevard

by Emerald



Category: Moonlight (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 08:35:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald/pseuds/Emerald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What might have happened after the end of Episode 10, Sleeping Beauty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revelation Boulevard

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the small fandom fest on LiveJournal.

Mick’s standing on the doorstep outside Sarah’s apartment, I’m surprised to see him back so soon. Actually I’m surprised to see him at all. He left with Beth less than half an hour ago. I had assumed he’d be off somewhere with her, livin’ lavida loca. Or as much as Mr Morals and Scruples, standing in front of me, can manage.

“Beth, she ah,” Mick’s gesturing over his shoulder, turning around as if he expects Beth to be standing there behind him. She isn’t. “She had to go, back to L.A. She needs to sort stuff out with Josh. I thought I’d come hang out with you for a while. You up for some company?”

For a moment I’m tempted to make some cutting remark about thanks for the consellation prize. But Mick’s got that puppy dog ‘please don’t reject me’ look on his face, so I step aside and usher him in instead.

“How’s Sarah.” Mick asks as he follows me past the bedroom where she’s lain cocooned for all these years.

“Well there’s been no change in her condition since the last time you were here, Mick.” I deadpan, and then shoot him a disarming smile.

He clears his throat, and looks embarrassed. Mumbling something along the lines of, “Yeah, ok. Stupid question.”

I don’t disagree with him.

Mick follows my lead to the living room. I wave a hand toward the decanters of Scotch on the sideboard cupboard.

“Help yourself to whatever you want to drink. There’s fresh blood on hand if you need it as well.”

I spend a few moments playing the role of gracious host, before taking a seat. Gracefully flopping into an armchair. Legs kicked out in front of me, crossed at the ankle.

Mick grabs the closest decanter of Scotch at hand, and pours a measure for both of us.

“Are you ok?” Mick hands me my drink. There’s a note of tenderness in his voice. And then he’s standing next to where I sit, the back of his hand brushing the side of my face.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I reach up and interlace my fingers with his. It’s always this way when it’s just the two of us. The exchange of touch, gestures of casual affection being passed back and forth. It’s more than friendship, but it’s not quite love.

And I am fine. I repeat the words, and press my lips against the center of Mick’s palm. “I’m fine.” If anything the events of the past 48 hours have been a relief. It feels good to have it all out in the open. And Mick knows. Mick finally knows.

 _Mick knows I’m capable of love, and relationships._

I don’t have time to dwell on that revelation, nor the one earlier about the lines of love, and friendship we on occasion straddle. Mick’s pulling me to my feet, and clapping a jovial hand on my back.

“How about you and me hit the town tonight, bud. You can show me the New York nightlife. Come on, you used to live in this city, you must know a few good places.”

“Depends on whether you’re talking nightlife, or wildlife.” I grin, and arch a suggestive eyebrow.

Mick puts on a pretence of rolling his eyes, and giving me a disdainful look. And then his expression mirrors mine. Arched brow, cheeky grin, and all, “How about we do both?”

It all feels a little forced, but I’m agreeing regardless. “You sure you’re up for it, St John?”

“Do your worst, Kostan.”

Mick suddenly halts, and gets this look on his face as if he’s just realised exactly what my worst could entail.

“Well there was this one time, back in 1752…”

“…Very funny.”

Four hours later we’re in a motel, just on the outskirts of Manhattan. Both of us more than a little intoxicated, not quite staggering drunk. Mick’s sprawled out in front of me. Jeans unbuckled, shoes kicked off.

“Do you ever relax?” Mick lifts his head, gaze unfocused, and looks at me. I’m still suited and tied, sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed. And then he’s patting the space next to him, and telling me to, “Come on.”

 _Yes, because lying next to you, on a bed, with your jeans half open the way they are, is going to be oh so relaxing for me, Mick._

I pretend I’m weighing up my options, before affecting an eye rolling look of pretend indignation, and crawling onto the mattress. I haven’t even had a chance to think about finding a comfortable position, and Mick’s hands are at my collar, loosening my tie, undoing buttons. “Relax,” he keeps telling me.

 _You’re not helping._

Eventually I do as he suggests, taking off my suit coat, and slipping off my shoes. And then we’re both lying on our sides, facing each other. Mick’s fingers are combing through my hair, tracing the contours of my face, his thumb stroking across my lips.

For a moment I close my eyes, and allow myself to drift with the sensation. It feels nice. There’s warmth, and tenderness in Mick’s touch. I crave the companionship it seems to promise, but eventually I have to get him to stop. If I don’t, I am going to kiss him. I won’t be able to help myself.

Our hands interlock, and I’m gently bringing Mick’s down to rest on the mattress between us. Still holding on, fingers interwoven.

“Do you think you’ll find anyone else, after Sarah, I mean.” Mick asks then.

“Eventually, I hope.” I had to think about my answer. I was tempted to be flippant, and evasive, a counterpoint to Mick’s solicitousness. Instead I settle for light toned, and to the point. Keep it simple. “What about you, with Beth?”

Mick shrugs, “I don’t know. Maybe the universe will be on our side. Who knows?”

“Well you certainly won’t unless you at least give it a go.” Yes, it’s hypocritical for me to be telling Mick that. I know. I should try taking my own advice sometimes.

“Maybe I’ll just save myself the hassle, and hook up with you.” Mick lets out a burst of laughter. He’s joking, obviously.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And – _crap_ \- now I’ve done it. I’ve just given myself away. I was going for raised brow sarcasm. Instead I end up detouring over to Revelation Boulevard. Sounding as if I’m about to start making trite declarations of love at any given moment.

Mick’s expression keeps switching between shock, dismay, and confusion. And I’m sure he can read me like an open book. My mind races, thinking of ways to reel the situation back in. Do I play the, ‘you idiot I’m only joking’ card. Do I challenge him point blank, ask what that look he’s giving me is supposed to mean. It all seems like shutting the gate after the horse has already bolted, but I have to at least try.

And then I’m seeing something else, something behind the rapid-fire changes of expression. It’s a mix of curiosity, and hidden invite.

“This doesn’t have to mean anything.” My voice is barely above a whisper, charged with electricity. I shift a few inches closer. And this time it’s my hand reaching out to comb through Mick’s hair, tracing the contours of his face, my thumb stroking across his lips.

“Yeah, it does,” Mick’s moving closer still, his forehead resting against mine. “Everything has to mean something, Josef.”

And then Mick’s hand is gripping the back of my neck, drawing me in those last precious centimetres. And his lips are pressing against mine, his tongue is exploring the inside of my mouth, and – _damn, I can’t believe this is happening_ – he’s kissing me.

I’m almost too afraid to do anything else; scared I’ll frighten him off. But then it’s not just our mouths that are joined; he’s got the entire length of his body pressed firm against mine. We’re wrapping ourselves up in one another, and – _oh Christ, yes_ – he’s hard too. For a fleeting moment I think of Sarah, and there's no guilt this time. I'm starting to let go.

Out of nowhere I’ve suddenly got the opening verse of Steppenwolf, Magic Carpet Ride playing on a loop in my head…  
 _  
I like to dream yes, yes, right between my sound machine  
On a cloud of sound I drift in the night  
Any place it goes is right  
_  
…I can’t stand the song, but somehow it seems to fit. Somehow everything seems to fit.

Mick’s shifted his weight to lie on top of me now, and he’s riding me so hard it almost feels like he’s trying to grind me straight through the mattress, and into the floor. If I was human I’m sure I would’ve felt my pelvis shatter. And he’s moaning, and making the hottest whimpering noises. And I’m reveling in the sound of it all, but I have to interrupt. There’s something I need to know.

“How far do you want to take this?”

Mick stops still for a moment, I can sense the consideration he’s giving to that question. And then he answers, “You lead, I’ll follow.”

 _Ok, Mick. We’ll start off with a Foxtrot, move into an Argentinean Tango, and then finish up with a Quickstep. Or how about I just have you fuck me instead._

More surprises, more revelations, it’s been over a hundred years since I last let anyone do that.

Suddenly I can’t seem to get us out of our clothes fast enough, stopping just short of tearing the offending garments from our bodies. I can feel both our chests vibrating as our lips come together, and we growl into each other’s mouths. And Mick’s whispering against me, panting out the words ‘oh baby’ over and over again.

Anyone else using that phrase on me would’ve ended up minus their head almost immediately. But at this point I think Mick could call me the sugar plum fairy, and somehow make it sound right.

And then I’m upending drawers, searching frantically for what I need. And there it is, thank you very much Masters and Johnson. Within seconds I’ve got the both of us prepped, lubed, positioned, and Mick’s cock is buried in my ass.

“Whoa, fuck.” Mick must have had some idea what was coming, but he still manages to sound completely taken by surprise.

“Exactly.” I grin back up at him.

And we’re doing just that. My hands are clinging to Mick’s shoulders, my legs wrapped tight around Mick’s waist. And I’m urging him on, begging him not to stop, trying to get him to lose control and start pounding me like there’s no tomorrow.

He does. Mick’s slamming into me now, completely unabashed. And – _Oh Jesus, fucking Christ, yes_ – I haven’t felt this good in forever. I haven’t needed to place a single finger anywhere near my cock, and I already know how hard he’s going to make me come.

And then we’re both shouting to the heavens, and sinking our fangs into each others flesh. And I’m sure I can hear a Superbowl chant coming from somewhere, complete with fireworks going off, and Mick’s still fucking me. Biting down harder every time he comes, and takes me with him.

I’m a complete mess when we’re finally done, covered, and filled. My entire body’s humming with residual pleasure, and I’m pretty sure Mick’s forgotten how to speak.

Eventually, he remembers. He’s lying in my arms now, replete. Draping himself over me, his head rested against my shoulder. “I’ve never, I mean…Damn, that was…”

“…What? Amazing, incredible, fantastic, intense, all of the above?” I laugh, and kiss the top of Mick’s head, before tossing him a modest, “Thanks, I know.”

Mick groans, and rolls his eyes. He should be used to me by now. I tell him as much, and it all still feels the same. Only we both know it’s different.

 _Everything has to mean something…_

So what did this all mean? It’s an open-ended question. It's more than friendship, and not quite love-

-But it feels like we’re headed in the right direction.


End file.
